


Seeing Double

by antigrav_vector



Series: Assorted Gift Ficlets [29]
Category: Captain America (MCU), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bloody Hell, Cap1 AU, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, First Kiss, For a while anyway, Gen, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Kinda, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Cloning, Offscreen Torture, Pre-Slash, References to Torture, Self-cest, Unrequited Love, actually mutually unrequited love, but they're both too yellow to talk about it, how do I even tag this pairing, idek, presto identical twins, things I blame on CAPRBB slack chat, unconventional relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21976534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antigrav_vector/pseuds/antigrav_vector
Summary: When Steve breaks Bucky and the other prisoners out of that Hydra factory, he finds two Buckies. He's… less upset about that than he probably should be.
Relationships: eventual James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes
Series: Assorted Gift Ficlets [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/637109
Comments: 13
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [velvetjinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx/gifts).



> I place all the blame for this on [velvetjinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetjinx), whose idea this was… albeit a long long time ago. Also: happy belated birthday, Jinx, my lovely.
> 
> Posted with thanks (once again) to [Quarra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quarra) for cheerreading like a boss.

Whatever he'd steeled himself to see when he'd found out that Bucky had been singled out by HYDRA for who knew what kind of special attention, it sure wasn't this.

Steve swallowed hard, wondering if he'd hit his head somehow, because he could swear he was seeing double. Through some arcane means he couldn't even begin to fathom, there were somehow two versions of his best friend strapped to tables in this mockery of a medical facility, and he had no idea which was the real one.

He'd let Zola run, scurrying to safety like the fat little rat he was, and now he was second guessing that decision. He needed answers. 

Too late now.

Giving in to the necessity -- they were on a time limit, after all -- he squared his shoulders. He'd just have to take them both with him. 

Stepping up to the closer one and putting his hands on that familiar strong jawline, he tried to get Bucky to open his eyes. "Bucky! Buck, come on. It's me."

He got a groan in response and Bucky's dazed blue-grey eyes slowly fluttered open, as though they were weighted down. "Steve?" He mumbled, his voice hoarse, as though he'd been screaming.

"Yeah, Buck, it's me. I'm gonna get you outta here," Steve answered, trying to will strength into his best friend. "Both of ya, I guess."

"Gotta be another dream," Bucky said, sounding like he was going to drift to sleep. "Better'n lately. Weird though."

"Oh no, you don't," Steve snapped. "Eyes on me!"

Bucky didn't protest too much, that time, though he did complain a bit more. "Y're bossy as always, Punk. Even if y're a lot bigger'n I remember and probably another fever dream."

Steve wanted to sigh. This was wasting precious time. "Tell you what," he offered. "Let me free you and follow me out of this place and if you wake up back here you've lost nothing. If you wake up with me, you'll know it was real."

"Y'always were too persuasive f'r y'r own good," Bucky agreed. "Fine. Get me outta here with those ridiculous muscles of yours."

Good enough. Steve nodded and yanked at the straps, simply pulling them out of their moorings rather than bother to undo them properly. Then, unable to stifle his curiosity, he asked, "Who's your new twin there, Buck?"

Bucky levered himself upright with effort as soon as he was free, and Steve turned his attention to getting the doppelgänger off the other table as Bucky answered. 

"Dunno, he was just suddenly there, and Zola was smug as hell about it. Somethin' 'bout a 'triumph of the occult arts'," Bucky answered. "But havin' 'im there changed nothin'."

That told Steve nothing, but he accepted it. At least Bucky seemed to be aware and awake. "Which one of you is the original?"

Bucky scoffed. "How should I know? Near as Zola could tell, we ain't just physically identical, right down to the scars, but we also got the same memories."

That stopped Steve in his tracks because what the Hell? He got himself moving again with some effort, hauling the second, still unconscious, Bucky's arm over his shoulder. "Alright, we'll pin that down a little better later."

As he finished the sentence, red emergency lighting started flashing out in the corridor, and he swore. "We've gotta go, Buck. Can you walk?"

"Ain't got much choice, do I?" Bucky retorted. "Lead the way."

Steve would remember the next half hour primarily as a series of impressions, his attention on getting his best friend back out of the work camp and dragging along as many of the other prisoners of war as he could with them. He could call up the details of he had to, but the strongest memories were of those flashing red emergency lights, the hail of gunfire and smell of burnt powder, and the ringing of his ears after the factory exploded behind them in a big ball of fire.

The shockwave from the explosion very nearly knocked him off his feet, and several of the men they'd rescued did go down, weakened by their long captivity and the grueling conditions.

"Everyone alright?" He called down the line.

Most of the men shouted back ayes, but there were a few that just silently stared at him. It took them almost half an hour to scrounge and steal enough transports for everyone who was sick or injured to ride back to base, and even then, those spots were prized luxuries.

He and most of the men ended up walking until they managed at length to find a way to sneak past enemy lines some thirty miles, twenty two hours, and five breaks later. 

It was a much longer trip than the flight into Austria had been, but also more satisfying despite the sheer exhaustion it engendered. With every mile they walked, though the men tired and their footsteps dragged incrementally more, morale kept rising until Steve thought they might take to the skies.

Just being free of the factory had done wonders for just about all of them, and Steve got the feeling that the fact that they were approaching enemy lines with the intent to sneak or blast their way through was going to have even the walking wounded grabbing for weapons and helping out whether or not they were fit for the job.

Bucky, though... Bucky was tough to read. It was disconcerting, and Steve found he hated that. His best friend was stifling everything he felt ruthlessly and had been very silent throughout the protracted march, basically only speaking when Steve asked him a direct question. It was so very different from the Bucky he remembered that Steve felt wrong footed and awkward around the guy that he'd used to be able to read like a book.

Steve had tried to pry a bit more information out of Bucky about what exactly had happened to him and how the doppelgänger had come to be, but the answers he'd gotten had been entirely unhelpful and consisted in large part of half coherent mutterings about this being a dream so why bother telling the story. After all, if Steve was a figment of his imagination it didn't matter, so he was going to save himself that unpleasantness. 

It was only once they'd gotten through to friendly territory and marched back into camp that Steve got anything at all like a coherent story about what had happened to them out of the men. Agent Carter had met them just inside the camp perimeter, alongside Colonel Phillips.

"You're late," Peggy snapped at him, her crisp accent making the words all the sharper, as he came to a stop in front of her. 

"Couldn't call my ride," Steve replied, giving her a rueful half smile as he offered her the very broken transponder he was still carrying. It had taken a bullet that had been meant for him.

Her lips thinned but she accepted the reason as valid. "You're to have these men report to the medical building in an orderly fashion," she told him, tone a bit frosty, and Steve saw Phillips hide an amused expression. "Preferably the most severely wounded men first. Then you will personally report back to myself and the Colonel about your mission."

Agent Carter turned and strode briskly away again, disappearing into the excited hustle and bustle of the camp. Steve turned to Phillips. 

"You heard Agent Carter," Phillips said drily. "Hop to."

"Sir." Giving in, Steve turned to his squad leaders, such as they were. "We've got our orders. Dugan, you spent the most time with the men on the transports. Think they're in any fit state to walk?"

Dugan doffed his hat and scrubbed at his scalp. "With help, maybe. Most of 'em are in pretty rough shape."

Morita huffed. "So we'll help 'em," he said sounding like he thought both Dugan and Steve were missing the obvious. With a shrill whistle, he rallied his squad and suddenly things were in motion as the other squad leaders followed his example.

It seemed like mere seconds later the whole column was organised and moving the wounded as ordered. The medics, scrambling to deal with the sudden influx of so many patients at once, didn't quite manage to stay on top of the situation, but somehow things kept running more or less smoothly.

An hour later, the most critical cases were being seen to, and the unpleasant task of dealing with the paperwork and funereal arrangements for the dead was well underway. 

Which left Steve in charge of Bucky and his double, both of whom insisted they were physically fine but exhausted and hungry.

"Steve, why won't you just believe us that we're fine?" Bucky demanded irritably. Well. One of them did. Steve still couldn't tell them apart. "Take us to the mess and let us eat, or get out of our way long enough that we can do it ourselves."

Steve gave in with a sigh. "Fine. Come on. I could use a bite to eat myself before I report for that debriefing. I suspect it'll take a while."

The other Bucky nodded. "Finally. I'm starvin'."

"Wonder how much paperwork we'll have to do to deal with the fact that we're twins now," the first Bucky mused, and Steve had to wonder how he could think about something so mundane right then.

"Probably a lot," Steve put in. "I don't think there are forms that deal with magical duplication of troops or whatever it was that caused this."

And, that was a concept he'd have to chew on for a while. Was _that_ what the Germans were after? A magical solution to troop losses and attrition warfare? It was a chilling thought, but given HYDRA's obsession with the occult in general, Steve couldn't put it past them. And the serum he'd been given very nearly qualified as occult, by any normal kind of standard.

One of the Buckies caught his attention. "Steve?" He asked slowly, "What're ya thinkin' about? You went very serious for a moment, there."

"I'll tell you after you eat," he sidestepped the question with a joke. "Don't want to ruin your appetite."

The other Bucky scoffed. "You've figured somethin' out, an' it's a grim prospect," he asserted, correctly.

"It's also something I probably shouldn't talk about to anyone but the Colonel and Agent Carter," Steve retorted as they passed through the mess hall doors. He led both Buckies over to the line of men waiting for their meals, and was relieved that neither of them pushed him to answer.

They stood in mostly comfortable silence until they had their trays of food in hand. It didn't take them long to find a table and quickly shovel their meals into their mouths, unappetizing though most of it was.

"Still feel like I've got a hole in the pit of my stomach," one Bucky grumbled, then sighed.

"We could probably get seconds," Steve offered, but both Buckies shook their heads.

"Suddenly having an extra four hundred men here'll put a strain on the supplies they got stored, as it is," the one on the left pointed out.

"We'll cope," the other agreed. "An' you've got places t'be, anyway."

Steve stifled a tired groan, feeling the weight of their march back to camp fall on his shoulders all at once. "I'd rather sleep," he said, but got to his feet. "Come on, then. On your feet, Barnes; if they want to talk to me, they'll want to talk to you, too. And if you join in, you'll get to hear what had me looking serious."

One Bucky made a face, and the other scrubbed at his face with his hands. "I hate you sometimes, Steve."

"No, you don't," Steve retorted. "You hate that I know how to keep you moving."

Grumbling wordlessly, both copies of his best friend shoved themselves to their feet in eerie unison, letting the feet of their chairs screech along the floor.

With a shrug, Steve started them walking. Their now empty trays went in the appropriate stacks, to be taken away and cleaned, and then they were out the doors, feeling eyes on them. They were sure to be the talk of the camp, and Steve didn't particularly want that, but there was no stopping the rumour mill and he knew it. 

Luckily, it wasn't far to the small building that served as the workspace for the brass. They entered, and the duty officer, clearly having been given strict instructions on what to do with Steve when he appeared, didn't bat an eye at their disheveled states. "Captain Rogers, Sergeants Barnes," he said briskly, not at all fazed by the strangeness of having two identical very travelworn sergeants and a captain without a commission standing in front of him, "you're expected. Please wait in conference room B. I'll inform Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips of your arrival."

One Bucky sighed. "Looks like you guessed right about them wanting to talk to us," he said to Steve. "Should've known you would."

Steve carefully said nothing, knowing that their every word would be listened to and picked apart, and turned down the short hallway that led to the conference rooms. The one they'd been told to report to was the one halfway down the hallway, sandwiched between the two other, larger, conference rooms that were likely used for administrative meetings.

The door was open when they reached it, and Steve took that as an invitation, stepping through and looking around. It was a small space, about ten feet by twelve, and contained very little besides the long rectangular table placed in the centre of the floor, and the ten chairs that went with it. The walls were painted a nondescript beige and the floor was scarred tile that looked like it might've once been a dark grey. Now it was more like a mottled cloud grey.

Both Buckies spent some time taking in the room, then exchanged a look and settled into an approximation of parade rest.

They weren't kept waiting long. Under five minutes later, the Colonel and Agent Carter came through the door, bringing with them a sense of inevitability that made Steve think of avalanches, and nevermind that he'd never experienced one.

"Well, Captain," Phillips drawled as he pulled out a chair for Agent Carter and then one for himself, "Sergeants, take a seat."

Both Buckies followed orders without a word. Steve fought the urge to swallow nervously, and nodded. "Sir. Agent Carter."

Agent Carter have him a long level look, clearly telegraphing that she wasn't buying into his pretense at following the chain of command at all. "So," she said crisply, "do tell us what happened after you left the camp."

Well, here went nothing. Taking a deep breath, Steve started talking. "Well, you know the beginning of the story. After I found out where the Germans were keeping the captives they'd taken during their defeat of the 107th, I grabbed whatever equipment I legally had access to and borrowed transport to a point about five kilometers from that location." Steve paused to shrug. "It took me about half an hour to find a convoy of tarpaulin trucks heading into their compound and stow away aboard one of them. That got me in. It was a little harder to get back out of the truck quietly, but after I did, I did some reconnaissance before I went in to free the prisoners. That compound was more extensive than our intel implied."

"How would you know what that intel was," Agent Carter interrupted his story, her tone acid. "That is top secret information."

Steve tried not to wince. "Then perhaps the available schematics shouldn't be left in open folders on desks where anyone might see them."

Her eyes narrowed and Steve hurried on. "I saw them while I was talking to the Colonel about what happened to the 107th."

Phillips scoffed. "Bull. Even if you did happen to get a glance at them without my noticing, there's no way you could read or memorize that sort of document in that short time."

"Would you like me to draw it for you from memory, sir?" Steve asked him, inviting Phillips to call his bluff and confident he could follow through. His memory for shapes and colors had always been good, but after the serum it had been sharpened further. He'd ended up with what he was fairly sure was a photographic memory, and it had definitely come in useful for that.

Agent Carter and Colonel Phillips both considered him for a moment that stretched.

"No need," Phillips grumbled after a few seconds, and Steve felt both Buckies let out a breath they'd been holding. "Get back to your report."

"Well, once I was in, I worked out that it was more than just a prison camp. They had a work camp there, and they Germans were forcing the prisoners they'd taken to work in a factory, producing esoteric weapons for the war effort. There was some strange sort of energy gun, and, worse, what looked like massive bombs designed to wipe as much of the Allied Forces off the map as they can manage."

Colonel Phillips nodded, his expression grave, now. "That fits with the intel we'd gotten so far. It's been limited, because until you no one'd managed to get inside a HYDRA base without getting caught. Go on. I'm sure there's more. The proof's sitting right here with us." He gestured at Bucky and his double. 

Steve felt his face go just as hard. "That's the unnerving part, sir," he answered. "I got into the area of the factory where the prisoners were being held, got them out, and learned from them where Sergeant Barnes had been taken. They also told me that no one else who'd been singled out like he had, had ever come back."

"So what did you find?" Agent Carter prompted him.

"Well, I went where the other prisoners told me he'd been taken and I found Sergeant Barnes," Steve told her. "Twice."

That got him a roll of Phillips' eyes. "Obviously. How is it that there were two of him?"

"I don't know, sir," Steve said slowly. "Zola fled before I could ask him, and anyone else who might've known the answer to that was long gone."

Agent Carter turned to one Bucky and gave him a wry look. "Do you know the answer to that, Sergeant?"

The pair of Buckies exchanged a look, and then turned to Agent Carter.

"Maybe we need to come up with a naming scheme, first, ma'am," the Bucky on the left said carefully. "We might be the same person, and share the same memories, thanks to whatever Zola did, but this is going to get real confusing, real quick without knowing which of us you're speaking to."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but conceded the point. "Very well. Any suggestions?"

The Buckies exchanged another look, having what looked like a silent conversation. Then the one on the left, who'd made the point, answered. "I don't want to presume," he said, "but using our last name isn't going to do the trick. Would you be willing to use a nickname instead?"

Phillips' voice was sardonic as he responded, pragmatic as ever. "I don't give a good goddamn what names you want to use as long as they're fit for polite company."

The Bucky who'd taken the lead nodded. "Of course, sir. Call me James and him Barnes, then."

"Fine. Now get on with your story, will you?" Phillips demanded. 

James took a moment to organize his thoughts, then started talking. "Well, sir, I had been there in the factory for about a week when they came for me. A pair of HYDRA soldiers took me out of the cage I was being held in, and frogmarched me into what looked like a medical facility turned into a torture room. Some guy in a lab coat stepped up behind me and jabbed me with a needle, and next thing I knew I was strapped to a table."

Agent Carter had a slightly pained look on her face, not at all pleased to know that one of their men had been experimented on like that, but she kept her silence.

After a beat, Barnes picked up the thread, letting James work through whatever memories that had to have dredged up. "A few seconds after I came to, Zola walked in. It was like he'd timed it. After that I don't remember much except pain for a while. Don't know how long it lasted. It might've been days, it might've been months. It was like being trapped in a windowless torture room without a clock. All my skin felt stripped raw and I for a while I thought they were trying to find a way to burn me alive."

Phillips made a sound like he wanted to speak, then stopped himself. Agent Carter didn't hesitate. She reached out and put a hand over Bucky's. "I'm sorry the memories are so absolutely terrible, but we must know what they're doing to our men so that we can try to prevent it in future, and more importantly we _must_ know their plans, so that we might head them off at the pass."

James swallowed hard and took a shaky breath, steeling himself a little more before he nodded. "The next time I was fully conscious, I was so exhausted I couldn't have moved even if I hadn't been strapped down, and there were two of me. Zola was standing in front of me, looking like I was some kind'a twisted answer to his prayers or something and monologuing about HYDRA's troops and victory. A few hours later, in what I thought was a fever dream, I got pulled back off that table and out of that camp."

Steve let the silence that met Bucky's story stretch for a second, then put in, "I have a theory about that monologue of Zola's, and I don't think you're going to like it."

Phillips scoffed. "We haven't liked anything we've heard yet during this debriefing. But go on. Shock us."

Not about to let that challenge go by unmet, Steve smiled grimly. "I'm pretty sure Zola was trying to find a way to make copies of their best soldiers. To stop us from wearing them down by attrition. And I'm pretty sure he succeeded, too, given that he managed to duplicate my best friend."

"Bloody hell," Agent Carter swore. "You'd best hope you're wrong about that, because if you're not, we'll be fighting an uphill battle to break their lines."

"We are, anyway," Steve pointed out. "It's been weeks since the front moved by any meaningful amount. But I found a map of what I believe are other HYDRA facilities similar to the one where Sergeant Barnes was being held."

Phillips gave him a measuring look, weighing him. "Let me guess," he said, "you stole it and brought it back with you."

"Unfortunately there wasn't time," Steve answered, "but I can mark the locations out on a map, if you give me one."

The remainder of the debriefing almost blurred together. Phillips and Agent Carter grilled him for details about what he'd found and seen until Steve almost wasn't sure of his own answers anymore. Afterwards, there was the expected paperwork to deal with, before they were free to leave the room -- Steve was officially enlisted after that, and so was the second Bucky.

It all felt like it took an age, but when he glanced at the clock as he and both Buckies left the building again, the whole ordeal had only lasted about three hours.


	2. Chapter 2

As they made their way through the camp towards their quarters, all three of them still reeling a little after the intensity of that debriefing, one Bucky -- Steve thought it was James -- broke him out of his thoughts when he scrubbed at his face with a tired groan. He muttered a few curses under his breath, then turned to Steve and asked, "So where are we bunking, then?"

Steve shrugged. "With me for now, I guess. No one's said anything about it to me, and I don't mind sharing with you two. Although. I'm not even sure if the girls are still here."

Both Buckies gave him a supremely unimpressed look. "The girls, huh," the one who'd spoken up to ask prodded at him verbally. "Only one place on base where you'd find enough girls to warrant that kind of phrasing. So the rumours I heard about a certain Captain America selling bonds were true."

The other Bucky chuckled. "Steve? Captain America?"

Fighting not to let the commentary get to him, Steve nodded. "At your service," he quipped. "Didn't think the brightly coloured uniform would help get you out, though, so I left it here."

Both Buckies reacted about the same to that, exchanging a look and then making slightly pained faces.

"You _would_ go and get yourself turned into a damned recruitment poster," the first Bucky grumbled, then sighed. "C'mon, we're goin' to ask the quartermaster about bunk space, rather'n guessing."

The second Bucky nodded, and they simply turned and strode off, assuming Steve would follow them. Rolling his eyes at the somewhat heavyhanded tactics, he did, and they made their way across the camp in silence. Several of the rescued men -- those who'd ended up as informal squad leaders -- were already speaking to the quartermaster when they reached the man's office.

"So you're saying we have to sleep under the damn stars?" Dugan demanded in disbelief as they approached, and Steve winced.

The quartermaster, a balding man known only as Jones who had a very efficient and brusque manner, simply nodded. "There's no available bunk space," he said levelly. "We were already housing two hundred and forty out of three hundred possible people. If the captain, there, had only brought back the remnants of the 107th, we could've squeezed everyone in like sardines and made do, but an extra three hundred and fifty men is just impossible for us to handle on short notice."

Steve nodded, knowing the man was right and didn't like that he couldn't at least offer enough tents to keep the elements from threatening the men.

"What would you suggest we do, then?" He asked, watching as Dugan, Morita, and Falsworth took him in and throttled down their own frustration as best they could.

Jones huffed at him. "There really isn't much that can be done. It'll take us at least a week to get in enough tents and bedrolls for everyone you hauled back here."

One Bucky pointed out, "It'll take about another day before those who're fit to travel are reassigned and sent elsewhere, and that's gonna take a lot of the strain off."

Picking up the thread, the other Bucky asked, "So why couldn't those of us who're sticking around just rent a room in the next town until there's space in the camp again?"

Jones considered that. "That's not strictly regulation, but it's a practical sort of solution. I'd have to run it by the brass."

Falsworth jumped on the suggestion. "Personally, I think it's the most sensible suggestion I've heard so far. Please do ask the Colonel and then let us know."

Morita and Dugan nodded.

"Soon would be appreciated," Dugan put in. 

Jones gave him a sardonic look. "Then get out of here so I can get back to things that aren't standing around and talking," he suggested. 

Taking it as the command it clearly was, Steve acceded. "Come on, boys," he said. "Out."

Morita rolled his eyes, but didn't protest. Dugan gave him the stink eye, but held his tongue until they were back outside of the quartermaster's office. 

"You're not the captain of me, Rogers," Dugan said pointedly once they were in the hallway and moving towards the buildings doors. "You're not even enlisted."

Steve shrugged. "I am as of half an hour ago," he riposted, keeping his tone level. "I outrank you officially, now."

Falsworth chuckled, very obviously enjoying the disgusted expression on Dugan's face. He turned to Steve, and asked, "So the brass saw fit to let you keep the rank you stole," he commented drily, still smiling. "That makes you a commissioned officer without a command."

Both Buckies sighed, before one spoke up. "Knowing Colonel Phillips, he won't be for long," he answered Falsworth. "If I had'ta guess, he'll be point man on taking out those HYDRA bases he found the locations'a."

Steve grinned as he shoved the building's main doors open and led the way out into the fading afternoon sunlight. "I wouldn't mind that," he said.

Morita shook his head in mock disappointment. "You're such a goody two shoes, Rogers," he said, then paused and groaned as an idea struck him. "I'll just bet you'll find a way to drag our asses back into the frying pan, too."

The Bucky who'd spoken up added, "An' then we'll end up followin' him right into the fire."

The other Bucky nodded and gave Steve a glare. "Damned fool is great at finding trouble to get into."

"Not my fault," Steve protested lightly and turned to scan the skies and changed the subject. "Think it'll rain tomorrow?"

Morita shuddered. "I hope not. There'll be a lot more sick men if it does."

That turned the conversation to other less important topics, and after a couple of minutes, everyone but the pair of Buckies excused themselves. Steve caught his friends' eyes and suggested, "Maybe we should get one of you a haircut or something. I hate to admit it, but I still can't tell you two apart."

Both of them smiled their crooked smile -- the one that was Steve's favourite -- and shrugged. "Guess we can work somethin' out," one of them conceded. "We both desperately need a shave an' a shower anyway."

"Until we can get you a clean uniform, that's barely worth attempting," Steve pointed out with a wince.

Bucky was a fastidious man, so this state of affairs had to be bothering him.

"Steve," the other Bucky said quietly, "we'll cope, for now. One more night sleepin' in these rags won't hurt any more than the last twenty, or however many it's been."

The other Bucky nodded and reached out to put a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Let's figure out where we're bunkin' tonight an' worry 'bout uniforms later."

As though the words had summoned her, Agent Carter appeared out of the foot traffic passing them by, seeming to simply float to the top like good cream. "Captain," she greeted him, "Sergeants. We've received a request from the quartermaster to house you off campus for the time being."

Steve nodded. "It's the most practical option. The camp is overcrowded and we're neither injured nor being reassigned soon. Once there's space here again we can move back onto the camp grounds."

Agent Carter purses her lips for a moment, then nodded. "You have your permission to proceed, but be aware that it will be coming out of your pay. We simply haven't the budget to house half the camp off campus nor can we afford to set a precedent, with this exception."

"That's fair," Steve agreed, pleased that they'd get a roof over their heads. "Will it just be me and the Sergeants or will others be bunking with us?"

A hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of Agent Carter's lips. "You'll be taking your impromptu squad leaders with you. The Colonel and I have negotiated with their former units to keep them around for the time being."

That smacked of some kind of ulterior motive, but Steve wasn't about to mention anything about it out loud. He couldn't hold back the pleased smile that he felt. "Roger that, Agent Carter. I'll let them know."

"Do that. And leave your temporary address with Quartermaster Jones once you have it," Agent Carter ordered, her voice firm and level, but holding that pleased tone that told him she knew he'd heard what was hidden between the lines and approved.

"Will do. Come on, Sergeants. We have our marching orders. James, you're on deck to find the men and let them know. Bucky, you're with me. We're on the hunt for a place to stay. We'll meet up back here with James and the others once we've made arrangements or at 1800 hours, whichever comes first."

Agent Carter turned with a nod and left without another word. One Bucky watched her go almost wistfully. "What a dame," he said quietly. "'f I thought she'd give me the time'a day..."

Laughing, Steve started walking and tossed over his shoulder. "I'd almost pay to watch you try, Jerk."

He got a huff in response. "She's married to her job already, Punk. Anyone can see that," he retorted, and Steve couldn't deny the truth of that.

"I know, but I'm right there with ya," he agreed. Then, turning toward the camp's main gates, he started walking.

The Buckies exchanged a look Steve swore he could feel, then the one on the right followed him, giving the other a sloppy half salute in lieu of a goodbye.

The two of them walked in silence until they reached the motor pool, where Steve took advantage of his newly minted commission to borrow a motorcycle, thankful that basic training had included a couple of days learning how to drive.

Bucky had given him a very expressive look that implied he didn't think Steve should be the one driving, but didn't protest out loud in front of the officer in charge of the motor pool. Once they were outside, however, that restriction went out the window.

"Since when do you drive, Steve?" He demanded, while they waited for the single staffer currently on duty to bring the motorcycle out to them. "And why should I let you?"

"You might think I'm nothing but a pretty face, Buck," he shot back, just a little hurt and offended, "and Colonel Phillips probably still agrees with you, but I'm a lot more than that. I did go through basic, and they taught us how."

Bucky swore under his breath. "That ain't what I meant, an' you know it," he grumbled, then shut his mouth abruptly when the staffer appeared with their borrowed wheels and a pair of a helmets. 

Steve thanked him and settled himself astride the bike, leaving Bucky the seat behind him. "Don't see why you didn't ask for a Jeep," Bucky grumbled.

"They're all spoken for at the moment, Sergeant," the staffer offered without being prompted, then saluted and vanished back into the small building behind him, where his superior officer waited.

Bucky grumbled a few curses under his breath then climbed onto the bike, settling himself carefully so that he'd be able to hold onto Steve but maintain a semblance of propriety.

For his part, Steve wouldn't have minded if Bucky had chosen to sit a little closer, but he knew that was a dream that would never come true. He might be attracted to his best friend but he knew Bucky didn't feel the same way about him. 

No use wishing.

Starting the bike with a loud satisfying growl of its motor, Steve smiled. "You ready for this?"

"I can take anythin' ya can dish out," Bucky shot back. "Now drive."

Laughing, Steve obeyed, revving the bike twice to warm up the engine, then goosing the throttle and taking off like a shot.

Bucky made a rather high pitched, surprised sound, then laughed, himself. "You punk," he said, leaning in close to make himself heard, and sending a shiver down Steve's spine.

They didn't speak for the rest of the trip into town. It didn't take long, and Steve took them right to the center of the small place. It boasted more in the way of amenities than the camp, though not by much, and he suspected that he and the others would have to accept rooms in different houses. The town itself contained perhaps fifty buildings, though there were a number of farms on its outskirts that also belonged to the place. There was a tiny hotel attached to the post office, a relic from the days when the mail still traveled by stagecoach and people did, too. 

Bucky eyes the place a skeptically, when Steve stopped the bike and shut it off. "This is it, huh?"

It was outwardly more than a little shabby, the paint on its walls more grey than white and flaking off in places. "Yup," Steve told him, firmly. "If there's no room here, they'll know who we can ask."

Bucky shrugged. "'f we end up carrying back some kinda plague, it won't be my fault."

Rolling his eyes at Bucky's ridiculousness, Steve waited for him to dismount the bike, then followed his friend into the place.

It was far better appointed inside than its appearance had implied, and Steve could see Bucky reassessing. Stepping past him, Steve approached the tiny reception desk and rang the bell on the counter there.

A moment later, a small slightly overweight woman came bustling up to them, giving the impression of kind eyes and a stern mouth and smelling like cookies. It made Steve smile.

Turned out, they managed to rent the last three available rooms of the little place. Between their terrible French and her terrible English, it had taken them a few attempts to explain how and when the payment would come through, though.

Bucky had insisted on seeing the rooms first, still not quite ready to believe that they were worth the money, and the proprietress had given him a scathing look before replying that she was not at all sure he wasn't going to leave her untold amounts of laundry to do. But she'd allowed him a glance into one of the available rooms.

Designed for two but big enough for three in a pinch, they boasted two single beds with snowy white linens and wood paneling everywhere. The single window, looking out over the main street was a bit small, but had delicate lace drapes covering it. The room wouldn't have been out of place in a little alpine chalet, really. 

Bucky had, a bit shamefacedly, agreed under his breath that he'd need a long hot shower and a change of clothes he didn't own before he dared sleep in a bed like that.

After that it hadn't taken long for them to strike the deal, and Steve had been thankful for that. 

Satisfied with their find and disinclined to linger over long, lest the proprietress change her mind on the basis of Bucky's extremely travelworn appearance, Steve got them moving again. He thanked the lady and chivvied Bucky back out of the hotel.

Bucky didn't appreciate that, and gave him a series of glares as they walked, but grudgingly allowed himself to be prodded along. Once they were out on the sidewalk, he put his foot down. "I ain't goin' back to base without somethin' clean to wear," he said firmly, "an' we better bring James somthin' o' his own, too."

That was a good point, but Steve hadn't gotten any pay from the military yet, and getting access to his account stateside would be difficult at best, from a town this tiny. "Think they'd give it to us on credit? I haven't got any cash."

Bucky sighed. "I hate that you're probably right that they won't."

"Maybe if we're lucky, Jones will have found you something to wear," Steve offered. 

"At this point I almost wouldn't even care what it was," Bucky agreed, and groaned. "No one ever told me getting rescued would entail such complicated logistics."

Steve laughed. "No kidding. They always leave the aftermath out, when they write about it in the papers."

"Well, guess we'd better head back to camp an' let the others know we found rooms," Bucky said and sighed. "Reckon we'll only get to enjoy them for a day or two, though."

"Better than not getting to enjoy them at all," Steve pointed out. "The whole camp'll be jealous, you know."

"Only if you tell 'em," Bucky retorted.

That had the ring of a fever dream, knowing what he'd learned about the rumour mill while he'd been peddling bonds. "You think they didn't already know, the moment we left the motor pool?"

"Just gotta pop every last bubble, don't'cha?" Bucky grumbled at him and sighed. "Leave a man a few o' his illusions."

Stepping back up to the borrowed motorcycle and mounting it, Steve shrugged. "Let's get back to base and see what the situation is. You can tell me you told me so, later."

Bucky snorted. "I'll hold you to that."

Steve couldn't stop the thought from forming that he would rather Bucky held him rather a different way, but he managed to stifle it and keep himself from voicing it. "Come on, then," he prodded at his friend. 

With a slightly wistful glance at the town's single general store, Bucky followed orders, and then, less than an hour after they'd set out, they were headed back to the camp.

As the bike ate up the few miles separating the town from their current home base, Steve let his mind turn back to the current situation. For his part, Steve wanted to find out what had happened to his belongings, meager though they were. He might not have much to his name, but most of it had been on the road with him. He hadn't had a chance to deal with the things before he'd left on his rather desperate and ill-advised but successful raid on the HYDRA factory in Kreischberg, so now he could really only hope that his belongings had stayed here, if the manager had ordered the show to move on without him. Maybe one of the girls would make sure he got them. Most of them knew what being down on your luck felt like, and were thoughtful people. To him at least.

And then there was the issue of what to say to Bucky about this whole crazy situation. He knew his best friend was putting on a brave face -- and it was pretty impressively good, for that matter -- but Steve knew better than to believe it. Whatever he might claim in public, he definitely wasn't as fine as he was pretending so effectively. The story he'd told during their debriefing had been pretty heavily edited where the details of what exactly Bucky's feelings were about what had happened to him had been concerned, and everyone in the room had known it though they'd let it slide. Steve knew he couldn't just let Bucky stew in those thoughts, but how the hell did one ask about that? 'Hey, I know you got tortured before they managed to make a copy of you, want to talk about it?' Steve let himself wince, knowing Bucky wouldn't be able to see it. Yeah, that kind of approach wouldn't fly. Maybe he'd be best off waiting this out a little, he decided. There were reasonably good odds that Bucky would come to him. He had before, back before he'd joined up.

As they approached the camp's main gate, Steve forced the thoughts aside again. That was an issue he couldn't do anything about directly, for the moment, and he sure wasn't about to open that can of worms in public or any situation that came anywhere close to public. And then he was distracted by the way it seemed that someone had been listening in on his thoughts.

When they arrived at the motor pool, the staffer they'd gotten the bike from took it back from them and said, "When you get a moment, stop by the quartermaster's. Someone apparently dropped off a trunk full of your belongings there, Captain."

"I see," he said, giving the man a polite nod, "Thanks for the heads up; I was wondering what happened to it."

Bucky shook his head in mild disbelief, and turned to lead the way back toward the quartermaster's office. "You really do live a charmed life," he put in. "Let's go get your stuff, then."

Laughing, Steve shrugged. "Let's." Then he paused for a beat and eyed his friend. Carefully keeping his voice neutral, he offered, "Actually, if you want, I could probably lend you and James a spare set of clothes for now. They won't fit perfectly, but at least then you'd have something clean."

"You gonna have anything left to wear, yourself, if you do that?" Bucky demanded pointedly.

"You know damned well I'd give you the shirt off my back if you needed it, Buck," he answered quietly. "You've done as much for me before. But, yeah, I will. Luckily for you, I have enough spares for that."


	3. Chapter 3

In the end, it took them the rest of the afternoon to reclaim Steve's belongings, gather all five of their impromptu squad leaders and inform them of the situation, and let the quartermaster know where they would be staying until some bunkspace opened up on base. Actually getting back into the town had been something of an ordeal, tired as they all were, but there hadn't been much of a choice in the matter. Borrowing motorcycles for the trip into town simply wouldn't be practical, given how many they were and that the bikes provided no way of hauling anything besides themselves. They'd have to leave their belongings on base if they wanted to get to town without walking. But carrying their things those five miles on foot had not been the most pleasant thing, either.

On the other hand, having access to a shower with water that actually ran hot was worth the trouble.

One Bucky had immediately staked a claim on it, only to have the other declare that he'd seen it all before and had no fucks left to give; they'd share or he'd make sure the other Bucky got all the shit jobs for the next month. Everyone else had laughed, and Steve had had to bite his tongue hard, at the mental image that had conjured. After a beat, he decided to roll with it and cleared his throat. "That doesn't bother me. It means more hot water left for the rest of us. Get going, Barnes."

The others all chuckled, and dispersed into their chosen rooms, all equally eager to get clean, but willing to settle for some soap and a washcloth while they waited to use the shower. Steve handed the Buckies each a pair of khakis and boxers, knowing full well that they'd insist if he didn't. They'd thanked him, then hurried off to make sure no one else had slipped into the shower in those few seconds they'd been distracted.

Steve watched them go, then opted to head back down and ask the proprietress where he could find something to eat. The long day was catching up to him, and he knew he had to find something to gnaw on or he'd feel terrible in the morning. Happily that was easily resolved, and he wound up making his way back up the stairs just in time to see Bucky and James stroll back out of the shower, still damp, but looking like they both felt so much more like themselves that the difference might as well have been night and day. Both of them stood straighter and had shaven off the scruff that they'd been forced to tolerate while held captive. They'd obviously tried to clean their clothes in the sink, and seemed to have more or less managed it, too, judging by the strong smell of soap.

The remainder of the evening passed quietly. The lot of them cleaned themselves up and made their way down the stairs to find and eat their dinners in ones and twos, then reveled in the luxury of having a bed to sleep in and a warm room to spend the night in. Or tried to, at least.

Steve was fairly sure that they'd wind up sleeping on the floors, rather than the soft mattresses, but he wasn't about to say anything about it.

It took several more hours, in which he, Bucky, and James did their damnedest to fall asleep and failed, for anything remotely interesting to happen.

"Steve?" One Bucky's voice broke the darkness, accompanied by a rustle of sheets.

"Yeah?" He answered quietly, copping to the fact that he was awake.

"What would'ya have done if ya didn't find us at Kreischberg?"

Bucky's voice was more or less level, but Steve knew a lot was riding on his answer to this simple question. He swallowed hard before he answered, "Kept looking."

Bucky scoffed. "Even knowing I was probably dead?" He demanded, and Steve knew Bucky wouldn't believe a word he said about intending to save the unit. His friend knew him too well to let him hide behind a half-truth.

"Yeah," Steve had to clear his throat. "The odds were in my favour. The number of men captured was a lot bigger than the ones confirmed killed in action."

The room was silent for a minute that felt more like an eternity. "No one man is worth that," Bucky said eventually, his voice hoarse.

"This one is," Steve disagreed, not having to think about the words at all. "To me."

The silence that fell on the heels of that statement was stunned, and then, throwing back the sheets, Bucky stood. "Idealistic punk," he hissed, then crossed the room to throw himself at Steve and try to hug the stuffing out of him. "'M glad ya got us out, but thinkin'a what might'a happened to ya makes my blood run cold," he admitted, muttering the words into Steve's skin.

Running a hand up and down the length of Bucky's spine, Steve shot back, "How d'ya think I feel thinking about what _did_ happen to _you_ , Jerk? I know better than to ask you about it, but you're not fine. You can't hide it from me, even if you've been putting up a good front."

Bucky's breath caught and then he swore a nearly silent blue streak before he eventually quieted again. The other Bucky answered, from his position still on the floor, wrapped up in blankets. "No, we ain't fine, but we also ain't hurt in a way the medics c'n help with, an' they're overwhelmed as it is."

Steve nodded, accepting that. "Alright, but that won't help if you get overwhelmed," he pointed out, as gently as he could.

The Bucky on the floor sat up, letting the blankets fall to pool around his waist. "We got each other t' talk to," he pointed out, "an' we're in the unique situation that we both know exactly what the other went through. The medics and headshrinks can't compete with that."

"And if you need another perspective?" Steve asked, genuinely curious despite his concern.

The Bucky in his arms shrugged. "We'll figure that out if and when we need'ta," he said firmly. "Neither of us wants to risk getting mustered out now. Bein' sent home, labeled crazy? Especially now ya finally got y'r wish an' got a commission? No way in hell we're allowin' that ta happen."

"It's not something I'd be happy about, either," he agreed, knowing Bucky would be able to read the truth of that in his voice. "So talk to someone when you need to. I don't care who."

"No one else but you'd ever believe anythin' we said about it," the Bucky pointed out.

Now that was definitely not true. "Except the other men we hauled back across enemy lines with us."

Bucky scoffed. "None 'o them has any idea what actually happened in those back rooms. I heard all the rumours before I got singled out, and not there wasn't a shred of truth to 'em. What Zola did was so much worse."

Steve had to bite his tongue, hard, to keep from asking.

After a couple of seconds, Bucky sighed. "Y're gonna sprain somethin' tryin' to keep y'r mouth shut," he said, sounding resigned, then squirmed around until he was settled more comfortably against Steve. "Go the fuck to sleep an' we can talk about it another time. When it's a little less fresh."

The Bucky on the floor put in, "You got most o' the story already, anyway."

None of them spoke for the next minute or so, and Steve almost thought they'd fallen asleep. 

Then, the Bucky on the floor broke the silence again. "Ya know," he said, "ya heard my story, Steve, but you still ain't told me yours. What the hell happened to ya? When I shipped out ya were still you. Now y're... I don't know. Huge."

Truth be told, Steve'd been wondering when this question would eventually come up. "The exact details are top secret," he said, and took a deep breath. "I got picked by this scientist, Erskine, for some secret project, and put through basic training, which was even worse than I thought it would be. But Erskine managed to get his formula working, and when he gave it to me, it... well, it made me a new man."

"Huh," Bucky sounded skeptical. "Sounds like some kinda magical hooey. Pull the other one."

"Sounds insane," Steve agreed, "but it's true."

"There was a rumour..." the Bucky on the floor said, sounding like he was picking his words very carefully, "that there was some HYDRA scientist with a secret supersoldier formula who defected to the US."

"That particular rumour might have a bit of truth in it," Steve told him. "A little bit."

Both Buckies groaned, immediately catching on to the implications he was making. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"And you call me stupid. Jesus, Steve," the Bucky in his arms swore at him some more, his arms tightening around Steve's waist. "You could've died, and no one would've been allowed to tell me."

"It was worth it," he answered quietly. "I'd do it all over again, if I had to. What matters is that I got you back."

Bucky pulled back just enough that Steve could make out his features in the mostly dark room. The moon was shining brightly in through the window, casting harsh shadows and throwing lines of silver light across Bucky's face. "Are you sayin' what I think y'are?" He asked.

Steve gave him a level look. "Can't answer that without knowing what you think I said," he riposted.

The Bucky on the floor picked that moment to stand up and slip across the room to join them, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Just kiss him, Bucky," he put in, shocking the hell out of Steve. "'F y're thinkin' o' waitin' for him to make a move, ya'll be here for another decade."

"An' what about you, Jamie?" Bucky asked his double. "We ain't talked about this at all."

"Think ya c'n handle sharin' him?" James shocked Steve into silence a second time. 

James seemed to be a bit bolder than Bucky was, Steve thought dazedly, as Bucky nodded.

"We'll have to work out the details, but I c'n live with that," Bucky agreed, then followed orders. He leaned in and the moment his lips touched Steve's, the feeling sent any response Steve might've had flying right out the window.

He couldn't help the way his arms wrapped around Bucky's waist, bare skin sliding against bare skin in what he thought might well be the most sensual thing he'd ever felt until then, to keep Bucky from pulling away too quickly. The move got a quiet sigh out of Bucky, who broke the (relatively chaste) kiss and sat up as much as Steve would allow.

What Bucky did then sent a shudder up Steve's spine. He reached out to James and wrapped an arm around his double's waist. "Get in here," he demanded, sounding like he wanted to roll his eyes at himself.

James huffed at Bucky, but prodded the pair of them into shifting over far enough that they all more or less fit on the mattress. It was a tight fit, leaving them tangled closely together and uncomfortably warm, but Steve found he really didn't care about that. He made sure he had one hand on Bucky and the other on James, as they settled in as comfortably as they could manage.

"Next time we try this, we need to find a bigger bed," Bucky grumbled. "This one's too small."

James made a skeptical sound in the back of his throat. "Bucky, we ain't gonna have a bed big enough for the three of us until the next time we're sleeping in a three man tent on the ground."

Unfortunately, much as he wished James was wrong, Steve knew he very probably wasn't. "There are worse things than sharing a sleeping bag," he pointed out, then tugged James in close so he could kiss him, too.

"Ya picked a horrible moment to make a move," Bucky told James as Steve tried to encourage him to make the kiss less chaste than the one with Bucky had been. It took a good minute or so to break.

"We couldn't'a, back home," James replied, once it did, his tone of voice falling somewhere between content and sad. "An' we won't have a lot'a chances to make any moves after we get back into the camp. Or out in the field."

Steve turned his hold on James into a hug, and cuddled him close. "Then we'll make the most of the chance we've got now," he said firmly. "And we'll see about finding more chances later. They don't call me the man with a plan for nothing."

Bucky scoffed. "When was the last time you made a plan that didn't blow up in your face immediately? 'F ya try an' tell me it was when ya pulled us out o' Kreischberg, I might scream. That wasn't a plan. That was a disaster that ya somehow forced to work."

James sputtered, then laughed, loud for a moment in his surprise, before he managed to control himself.

Steve grumbled a few oaths under his breath and gave Bucky a glare he hoped would peel paint. "Fine, _you_ can plan it, then," he decided.

James sniggered some more, and tucked himself in close again. "Shut up and go to sleep, Steve," he suggested pointedly, and Steve huffed at him but didn't object further.

They didn't speak much after that, content to trade kisses that were more like fleeting brushes of lips over skin until they fell asleep for real, and when they woke Steve could tell that both copies of his best friend -- possibly soon to become his lovers, holy shit -- felt more rested than they likely had in weeks.

They both smiled, wide and open and pleased with life, too. Smiled in a way that Steve hadn't seen in years.

And now he was seeing double, and enjoying every minute.


End file.
